Archive for May, 2011

See, if you think back, really hard, you might vaguely remember a Platonic guy pal who always seemed to want to spend time with you. He’d tag along with you when you went shopping, stop by your place for a movie when you were lonely but didn’t feel like going out, or even sit there and hold you while you sobbed and told him about how horribly the (other) guy that you were fucking treated you.

At the time, you probably joked with your girlfriends about how he was a little puppy dog, always following you around, trying to do things to get you to pay attention to him. They probably teased you because they thought he had a crush on you. Given that his behavior was, admittedly, a little pathetic, you vehemently denied having any romantic feelings for him, and buttressed your position by claiming that you were “just friends.” Besides, he totally wasn’t your type. I mean, he was a little too short, or too bald, or too fat, or too poor, or didn’t know how to dress himself, or basically be or do any of the things that your tall, good-looking, fit, rich, stylish boyfriend at the time pulled off with such ease.

Eventually, your Platonic buddy drifted away, as your relationship with the boyfriend got more serious and spending time with this other guy was, admittedly, a little weird, if you werent dating him. More time passed, and the boyfriend eventually cheated on you, or became boring, or you realized that the things that attracted you to him weren’t the kinds of things that make for a good, long-term relationship. So, now, you’re single again, and after having tried the bar scene for several months having only encountered players and douche bags, you wonder, “What happened to all the nice guys?”

Well, once again, you did.

You ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy. You laughed at his consideration and resented his devotion. You valued the aloof boyfriend more than the attentive “just-a-” friend. Eventually, he took the hint and moved on with his life. He probably came to realize, one day, that women aren’t really attracted to guys who hold doors open; or make dinners just because; or buy you a Christmas gift that you mentioned, in passing, that you really wanted five months ago; or listen when you’re upset; or hold you when you cry. He came to realize that, if he wanted a woman like you, he’d have to act more like the boyfriend that you had. He probably cleaned up his look, started making some money, and generally acted like more of an asshole than he ever wanted to be.

Fact is, now, he’s probably getting laid, and in a way, your ultimate rejection of him is to thank for that. And I’m sorry that it took the complete absence of “nice guys” in your life for you to realize that you missed them and wanted them. Most women will only have a handful of nice guys stumble into their lives, if that is the case.

As a child – letsay three . My mom,my kindergarten teacher taught me what was supposed to be the first letter of literacy.the first that gave me though. the first that probably was me – it defined me as to what i am today . So on one of those June mornings when mom left me to my first day at school, she left me to care-she left me to the world and she leftt me with the hope to embrace a new person that i would call teacher. She taught me to write an I first .Yes I . Its always easier for a toddler to get with those standing and sleeping lines.Now this I was the milestone of literacy for me at three. I thought that was it. Then as days passed I learned more alphabets . So one of those days , she taught me an A and told me that was supposed to be the first letter of the alphabet series. I, amused – could not accept that an A came before an I . It seemed uncertain and a petty thing to think upon at that time. So I grew up.

At eight – mom taught me. My teachers taught me. The dog in my streetway,that woman on the television all taught me – what is wrong and what is right. I learned,i observed, I came up with theories and what was more important then was I accepted things happening around me.

At thirteen – I had a mind of my mine. I was my teacher.I was my friend.I listened,learned,observed and rebelled.They say a teenager is not half as sane as a five year old. Accepted.

At eighteen-I am made of my own. I have a life.I have a dream . A step taken towards eternity in terms of my oh moment.A step taken back . I do my thing .I burst into random songs and thoughts.even random expressions.Observe characters and some -isms that rule my life. sit in a corner and ponder or just laugh away the concern in some healthy sunshine. People come.people see.people comment.So the biggest achievement that anybody ever made walking past the road and stopping by is making a useless comment on somebody’s achievement because they were not to make it any time in the proximity. I still sympathise with this kind – Another, is that you-know-your-daughter-is-a-so-and-so-and-gone-off-your-hands- ism. Yes.We are more bothered about others sons and daughters and how interesting does her/his life look in a next ten years.So this isnt chugalkhori in better words – its curiosity . How frank is the part when you know your kid isnt an eighth good of the kid living across the lane and that is when the fingers come in picture? Your kid failed in maths. Oh no. Mine scored an A. Your kid is dyslexic mine is not. Yeah seriously .

So, at this point of time its like walking with two deaf ears and a hypothetically blind pair of eyes on the road . the road where people would seldom come and show you ways – the ones that arent right. the ones that are rightly wrong. You walk.stumble.stumble. walk. And years later when you’ve just had it the way you wanted things to be.You think. and you feel lucky like a four leaf clover in a casino bar. Yes, six was six and nine was nine. I had a mind of my own and consequently I have a name of own. Which is just about enough. And Then I wouldnt stop being thankful because if six was nine – it would be the same chances of my aunt being my uncle. Haha !

I was recovering.Basking in the sunset , the tender yellow orange panorama of tints and shades,emotions and life around me . This was a distant ,well taken care of disease by me ,all the symptoms – All the prerequisites . ALL .…

I was never going to go through this pain again. I was never going to trust , I was never going to smile and never going to love like that. A bitch called destiny it is . A life called fate . ..And when fate recurs back ,it hits back soft with the helluva of emotions and the mental tartar inside your system . Seemed more like a dj night inside my head , with thoughts,decibeling over all and about . making me rethink of things.making me rethink of people . Making me rethink of situations. Was this my mode of reconciliation? So much at the cost of a little thought . My cerebral muscles could paralyse or swell some unfateful day considering the serious hullabuloo shadowing my mind.

Was I going insane or was I seriously recovering ? The one thing that did strike me by the warp was ..Notice. Notice was getting over me . Was I just a soul lost in the massive untrustworthy human racket in and around the place or was it me that was different ? Was it me ? How could it be that I was the one who was being noticed ? I had lost myself in the ocean of expression,deep , thought , dark but unnervingly trying to be pleasant to me ? Was this my share of basking in glory? I was , going to get over it . I was going to trust..I was about to learn..life ..tender..life ..promisingly was just about ..err.. love.Life could get just about beautiful . Sometimes , probably sometimes life puts me to thought . Sometimes , sometimes life is kind. Sometimes ..probably some of the coming times ..it would do me a lesson..somehow it would…The one that could turn a new leaf on me .

I am me. Distinct.Unique. The soul that I could be, The heart I am . The She in me . Realization and a little more of tingling wonderful romance of thoughts ..serene …inspiring.The golden leaf had turned over to me .

Pour my life into a paper cup
The ashtrays full and I’m spillin’ my guts
She wants to know am I still a slut
I’ve got to take it on the otherside ..

So a couple of people here and there and in and around often come up with this question – Why ? It is unknowingly weird ..and unacceptable for the crowd around . Totally. Why ? Do you just know about it or are you just acquainted and newly fascinated by it? And often do I get the feeling – Yes,asshole I am a girl. And I listen to better music than you do. I have achieved better in life than you have and I have been a better human being than you have been . So I listen to Paparoach – because he makes music . not that he is hot and all. And you listen to Rihanna and Lady Gaga because their obnoxiously sexually and skimpily dressed. Yes. Spot the difference.

Another thing that i conveniently hate about the so called Music fanatics is prototyping – The prototyping , categorizing is often something like -Miley Cyrus – dumb and big . Sanjay Leela Bhansali – slow and boring intelligent women . The Ghulam Ali kinds – healthy zindagi se haari hui aunties . Bullet for my valentine kinds – Wannabe cool young women . These women are supposed to be the cool young turn ons. Fake – in precision.Fake – left,right,centre.its funny how it becomes egoistically unacceptable for the modern male to identify with the I listen to all music woman. She watches skimpily clad shakira rolling about in the possible wild way in a cage , she can even enjoy Enrique making out with a supposed ten woman gang in one of his videos. More so. She does enjoy sensible sensible music – Coke Studios and more crossovers and performing art shit. She grows up on rock. Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Beatles is her breakfast. Escape the fate for brunch. Enigma and Systems for lunch and more.

The sole motive . the motive her remains to just give an answer to all the men who do think that your she’s probably got this dumb sense of music . Yes sense of music does matter. Does does matter and it is not something petty to pen downsome five hundred words on. Just a thought on some of the funny theories that men come up with . I never understood them . I never will – for the good. And then sometimes you’ve just got to face the music . Life – you call it , bigger and better than Broadway.